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Friday, August 31, 2012

Simon Abrams and I continue our dissection of American Horror Story, specifically the first of the two-part "Halloween" episode. The following is my response to Simon's previous post, which will then be followed shortly by Simon's introduction to "Halloween, Part 2." Enjoy!

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Whew. When they called it Labor Day they weren’t kidding. Oh, wait. The holiday is intended to be a break from work, a tribute to those who work their asses off all year. Yet unless I actively contrive to take some time off, it inevitably turns out to be a ludicrously busy weekend for me, work-wise and otherwise. On top of that, a family wedding-- a far happier priority, by the way—is taking precedence over everything else. So there’s not going to be a huge window of time to respond to your thoughts on “Halloween, Part 1,” but I’ll do my best.

Of course I’m disappointed that you didn’t care much for the episode. But in reading your post, and seeing the episode again for what now must be the fourth or fifth time, I was struck by how much of your reaction—specifically in regard to the general tone of (some of) the dialogue and how overwritten it tends to be at times, in this episode and in the series in general—I agreed with. I’d have to go back and look to be sure, but if I didn’t explicitly complain about it to you in one of the “Pilot” posts, this has been a sticking point for me from the beginning and at the risk of being slightly off-topic (or at least off-episode) I’ll bitch about it now in the hope of illuminating the current episode as well.

In interviews Ryan Murphy is understandably proud of his cast and likes to promote their talent and agility with the material, and I’ve heard him crow about how the vicious argument scene between Ben and Vivien that immediately precedes their passionate screw (the one we don’t see, which itself precedes the deeply disturbing screw Vivien has with the Rubber Man, which we do see) has been used in acting classes and how it wouldn’t be as effective without the element of emotional vitality that Dylan McDermott and Connie Britton bring to it.

My reaction to that is, well, of course student actors who are looking for a good showcase scene would love this one, because it’s jammed to the rafters with opportunities to shout off outraged mouthfuls like “I’m not punishing you, you narcissistic asshole!” or “I can’t even look at your face, Ben, without seeing the expression on it while you were pile-driving her in our bed!” (McDermott’s lines aren’t quite as juicy—he’s left to just turn up the volume—and maybe this is more evidence of the theory that Murphy and Falchuk are initially stacking the deck in favor of the relative moral superiority of Vivien and the female cast.) As proud of Murphy is of it, I’d call this scene the worst moment perhaps in the entire series. The nadir of the nadir? Ben blurts out that Vivien’s not the only one who’s hurting, which gives her the green light to play the full-on self righteous anger card in referencing her miscarriage: “Oh, I’m sorry. Did the life that was growing inside you die, and did you have to carry that around in your belly… the dead corpse of our baby son?!” (In their zeal to give Vivien and Britton this big moment, I guess scriptwriters Murphy and Falchuk forgot that a corpse is usually dead and that they might be flirting with redundancy here, let alone going way over the top in the dramaturgy department.)

There’s a certain stridency in the writing on the show that reveals itself in big moments like these, and even in the way that Murphy and Falchuk occasionally wave the envelope-pushing sexual frankness flag, in dialogue and in dramatic action. It’s that stridency, that tendency to overwrite lines for the big effect rather than figure out a way to scale them down into smaller, more devastating bombs, which makes me recoil during Chad and Patrick’s final argument in the kitchen before they’re killed, rather than the miscalculated, button-pushing use of all the fairly graphic sexual references. Murphy and Falchuk obviously get off on flaunting the kind of gay sex talk that would have never passed Standards and Practices even just a couple of seasons ago, but again they seem to want to err on the side of excess. Maybe that’s easier than crafting an argument between two gay men that doesn’t seem exclusively devoted to one-upping the other in ever-increasingly provocative ways designed more to make middle America’s ears turn red than developing character with some subtlety. This scene is the same-sex version of that argument between Ben and Vivien, and it’s written in almost exactly the same relentlessly showy way. (For the record, my objection is not a “gay thing" either—I’m just as annoyed by all the incessant banter about boners and va-jay-jays on shows like How I Met Your Mother.)

The stridency extends to Murphy and Falchuk’s apparent inability to resist snappy comebacks and incongruously knowing dialogue, like that fluffer business or Larry’s “patients/patience” crack. I would defend, mildly, Larry’s moment based on the fact that he’s a would-be actor and such might be a little too in love with the wattage of his own wit, but that defense would admittedly hold more water if everyone on the show weren’t so faultlessly sharp and articulate at every turn. I agree with you that the show does tend to bash its way into the overwrought, in-your-face, on-the-nose department with annoying frequency.

That said, the very theatricality of Constance’s (self-created?) Southern gothic image, and the roots of that theatricality, to say nothing of Jessica Lange’s supreme confidence in the role, is what saves this character and her arc from succumbing to these tendencies, at least for me. I’ve already mentioned Lange’s apparent homage to Geraldine Page, and the far more obvious tip of the bouffant toward Tennessee Williams and Blanche DuBois could probably go without the slightest reference. But while Ben and Vivien and Violet, as the show’s primary representation of the living, those who operate in the Murphy/Falchuk-inflected depiction of our recognizable society (that is, Murphy/Falchuk’s assumed “realism”) and resist at least the surface stylization of their characters, and the undead— Moira, the twins, Nora, now Hayden, Chad and Patrick (and perhaps Tate?)—are of course heightened to the degree that any character with that status in the horror genre might be, Constance seems to operate on a different plane. She is conversant with the dead, yet her residence off the grounds of the Murder House, not to mention events that transpire in this episode regarding the fate of Addy, seem to cement her status among the living. Constance occupies space somewhere in between the two worlds. This is the evidence (or the rationalization, if you will) that I’d put forth in defense of Constance’s often show-stopping dialogue, which I would also characterize as deliberately stylized, as opposed to the more eye-rolling degree of knowing smarm that seems to be ladled onto the show’s most egregiously over-the-top moments.

I expect the flowery, overwrought language from someone whose theatrical roots and self-descriptive imagery show so obviously, and I may be more forgiving of the kind of grievances you register because of that. And maybe lines like “As if I had a choice!” that you point out don’t seem like howlers to me because I’m engaged and accepting of Constance’s largeness, which, however self-prescribed it is, however cartoony it may or may not come across, works for me on the level of self-pity and self-aggrandizement in which the character of Constance is clearly grounded. I think that your characterization of Constance as an ostensibly “brave character” is perhaps precisely the way she sees herself, but I don’t think the show necessarily has to or does prescribe to that same point of view. Constance is the type of character who wears her burdens on her sleeve, or perhaps on the meticulously maintained hem of her outdated society dresses. I think she resents being tagged as “brave” by other parents because she wears that supposed bravery like a doomsday placard, yet she doesn’t believe it herself, and every time she looks at Addy she’s reminded of her own failing in this regard, her own failing as a parent. In that light, it seems utterly plausible to me that a woman like Constance might displace her frustration and guilt in the form of the kind of love/hate that manifests itself in her relationship with her Down’s-afflicted daughter. In her mind, as much as she may love Addy on purely maternal, biological terms, on some level it’s Addy’s fault for not being perfect, for putting her mother through this, for constantly (Constance-ly) reminding her mother of her own biologically and non-biologically related maternal failings.

Furthermore, I don’t see it as a failing on the script level that we don’t see more of the patience for Addy that Constance is always quick to allude to. We do see it—it’s there in that scene where she shows her the mask. But it’s Constance’s brand of patience, and it’s in service to an alarmingly myopic view of how to present a kind of helpful mirror unto Addy without sending the warped message that the best way to present oneself, if one is afflicted with a birth condition that makes other people uncomfortable, is to hide underneath a freakishly neutralized masked representation of acceptable beauty. The tragedy of Constance, one that will be amplified by the end of the episode and into the next one, is that she cannot see this for herself until it’s too late, assuming that even through tragedy she even sees it at all. To answer your question, no, Constance’s haranguing and belittling of Addy doesn’t accurately describe parenting as it is most typically, sensitively defined, nor it is a particularly “generous” interpretation of what a parent does for a child. Neither was Mrs. Bates, or Margaret White, or… But for Constance, enduring as she has horrors both self-imposed and by the world (whichever one we’re talking about), it may be all she has left in the tank.

Speaking of which, real world obligations are demanding that I stop for now. I look forward to your perspective on “Halloween, Part 2,” Simon, and what you think about it that redeems the trajectory, if not the flaws, of this episode. And have a great time at the Toronto Film Festival!

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Catch up on the American Horror Story conversation between Simon and I by clicking on the following links:

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

I apologize for the horrible pun, which Simon Abrams will undoubtedly find very Murphy and Falchuk-esque, but I just had to deliver it, with a friendly wink, of course, as my way of introducing my American Horror Story pal's general disdain for the "Halloween, Pt. 1" episode. I will respond with an inappropriate level of outrage and wounded pride tomorrow!

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To begin, a confession: I skipped ahead and watched both "Halloween, Part 1" and "Halloween, Part 2." This is partly because I wanted to see how the two-parter ended and partly because I realized, with the Toronto Film Festival coming up next week, I'm probably going to have to skip ahead at some point to get all my required viewing in (I still need to get my computer issues resolved, alas. Word of advice: don't use Tekserve for your repair needs). That having been said, I did not find "Part 1" to be as compelling as you did. I know, I know, I'm no fun but I at least agree that the show starts to pick up soon. I just think it only returns to the standard of quality established by "Pilot" in "Halloween, Part 2."

There were a number of little things that bugged me about "Halloween, Part 1," and generally contributed to my dislike of the episode. For starters, again, the tone of the show is still too kitschy, for my money. I think this is even true of the declamatory way that Constance addresses Addy in the speech you highlighted where she mentions sharing men with Addy. If this were a habit of Addy's that I felt were more than just a tacked-on means for Constance to fight with Addy before her big accident, I'd be fine with this scene. But apart from a winningly vitriolic tirade from Jessica Lange, I just don't buy this scene.

That kind of bombastic scene is indicative of how much of the dialogue in "Halloween, Part 1" triggered my gag reflex however. It should be noted that the dialogue in this week's episode sucks on multiple levels, and in various ways. There's juvenilely sarcastic jokes, as in the dopey, unfunny and, as far as I understand it, pointless joke comparing interior designers with "fluffers" (is the term so mainstream that we can honestly expect anyone other than perverts to get it, let alone laugh at it? Laugh at the Harmons for being rubes, is that it?). Then there's the stick-in-your-craw-and-choke quality to much of Constance's expository-but-also-pointedly-cryptic dialogue ("The dead walk freely on Halloween." "We've always known that."). Constance's line to Addy about what Halloween means--"Everyone gets a chance to be someone else for a little while, even a pretty girl."--was the worst of this type, I think. Mostly because it's the most distractingly creaky and artificial. Then there's also random little awkward bits of back-and-forth dialogue that should have been weeded out in a third or fourth draft script revision, as when Ben barks, "I have patients," and Larry replies, "And I have patience! But only so much." Oy, these puns.

I'm sorry if reading these complaints has become monotonous for you but gah, this show! I want to like it so badly but, there's just so much to hate! So much clutter and so many missed opportunities for scares and thoughtful thematic exploration. For example, I totally agree that there's something compelling about the idea of children and parenthood being a central theme. That's what makes Ben so compelling to me: he's a provider that's driven nutty by the insane amount of pressure put upon him.

But where I really get frustrated with "Halloween, Part 1" is the way that, as in "Murder House," everything seems to happen for largely contrived reason. I'm especially stymied at the thought that Constance would actually set her child loose on the streets in such a latex mask. I get it, it's in character for Constance. But really? This just feels like Murphy, Falchuk and Wong and have shoved a stick in my eye and then expected me to like it or leave. I can't really argue with the inevitable bad result of Constance's decision, as I think there's a fairly poignant scene in "Halloween, Part 2" that this episode's events set up. But gah, really?! Is Constance really that much of a cartoon that she not only has to shoo her Down's-afflicted kid away from her latest young lover, but also has to try to ineffectually help her while only actively showing her disdain for her own child? COME ON.

James Wong's script really did drive me bananas, Dennis, so IOr! Or, when Constance recounts how she resents when other parents tell her how brave she is for raising Addy? And she spits out, "As if I had a choice?" I almost lost it. Constance is not a brave character as she's sketched out. Had we seen her doing more for Addy, being patient on a semi-consistent basis, doing the work of a parent that she more often than not alludes to, I'd be sold. Mostly, we just see Constance shouting, Constance over-zealously refereeing, Constance condescending, and Constance worrying over Addy. Does that accurately describe parenting? I'm sure you'd know better than me, but dramaturgically speaking, it is not a generous interpretation of what a parent does for a child.

Again, I get it: we can't see Constance interacting with the parents she's alluding to in this scene in order for this complaint to have some kind of emotional impact. It's just one beleaguered one's word against the world, myaa, see? Still, generally speaking, I don't think Constance's relationship with Addy is strongly characterized in this episode. It's the backbone of the episode. So, since you did like it, I can see why you would like the episode in general. I however felt it was rushed, canned and generally underwhelming. I did like the scene where Violet applies make-up to Addy. That had a genuine warmth to it thanks to the show's talented young actresses. But Constance and Addy's relationship in "Halloween, Part 1" just struck me as overwrought and underdone.

But now I am curious to hear more of your thoughts on Constance and Addy's relationship in "Halloween, Part," and the episodes other key sub-plots. Maybe it will bring out some love and/or greater interest that I didn't previously see. I mean, what else am I going to do, but listen to you while I hyper-ventilate in this lil brown baggy, right? Just give me a second to...catch my breath....

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Catch up on the American Horror Story conversation between Simon and I by clicking on the following links:

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Time for Simon Abrams and I to continue our discussion of American Horror Story with a consideration of the show's third official (and so far best) episode, "Halloween, Part 1." I'll kick off with a recap of the episode's events and a few observations, and Simon will follow up. (Starting with this post, the links to previous conversations can be found at the end of each new post.)

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2010. Images of earthy domestic bliss as Chad (Zachary Quinto) bakes pies and meticulously carves pumpkins in anticipation of Halloween. But those images are tarnished quickly as Chad’s partner, Patrick (Teddy Sears) comes into the kitchen and the tensions between the two, based on Chad’s suspicions of Patrick’s promiscuous infidelities and their dire economic straits, explode. They are the previous owners of the Murder House now owned by the Harmons, and after Patrick stomps out in anger we see the event that Marcy was obligated to disclose when selling the house a year later. Someone appears to Chad in the kitchen dressed in the rubber suit that Vivien and Ben discovered in Episode 1. Chad of course assumes it’s Patrick, but we’re not sure— Patrick was none too happy when he left to get ready to go to the gym, but was he angry enough to jam Chad’s head in a bucket meant for bobbing apples and then snap his neck? Unlikely, as Patrick walks in on the assailant seconds later. Marcy, remember, mentioned in her description of the “murder/suicide” something about one of the victims having a poker shoved up his— But we don’t see any of this (yet), as the scene cuts away to the main titles.

(Is Marcy just passing along the conventional wisdom about these deaths being a murder/suicide, or does she know something and is just covering up? Because no coroner would conclude from a snapped neck and a death-by-fireplace-poker that one of the assaults was self-inflicted.)

After the break, Marcy gets grilled by Ben and Vivien re selling the house, Ben’s motivations now in his way perhaps even more urgent than Vivien’s, seeing as that he’s buried Hayden in the backyard under his brand-new gazebo. Marcy again deflects responsibility for an ethical sale and suggests that the Harmons undergo an image makeover for the house—which was Chad’s motivation for dolling up the place for Halloween the previous year—in order to attract prospective buyers. Murphy and Falchuk have said in interviews how much they enjoyed writing for Christine Estabrook as Marcy, and perhaps they (and episode writer James Wong) have a bit too much fun in this scene-- “Don’t put the blame on Mame, Mr. Harmon,” she quips, just before suggesting that they hire “fluffers” to come in to give the place a little élan in the style of a Halloween magazine spread. (Ben and Vivien, of course, don’t appear to get the reference.) The scene is punctuated by a quick flashback to Ben catching the redheaded twins, in the grand tradition of tricks and no treats, egging the house before Vivien asks Marcy if she knows any good fluffers. Marcy recommends a young gay fellow she knows.

Travis (Constance’s lover glimpsed briefly in the “Home Invasion” episode) reads to Addy from a storybook about the origins and history of Halloween. He explains to her that on the holiday the boundaries separating the living and the dead disappeared and that people dressed up to ward away the ghosts. Addy tells him that she would never want to be a ghost—“It’s so sad.” Constance walks in just as Addy sidles up to Travis and whispers in his ear that she wants to dress up as a “pretty girl” for Halloween. She immediately accuses Addy of coming on to her boy toy, leaning in close to deliver a jealousy-flushed statement of love: “Now, you listen to me, good little girl. I have given every inch of my life to you for the last 30-some years. I would kill or die for you. But I will not share the affections of the men I bring into this house with any woman.” Addy reveals her Halloween costume of choice, and Constance retorts dismissively, “You can go as Snoopy again” before banning her from reading any more about Halloween (especially with Travis.) “The dead can walk freely on Halloween,” says Addy. Constance sighs: “We’ve always known that.” This is, I think a terrific scene on its own, but it lays the groundwork for the stuff that will really end up getting American Horror Story on its feet.

Larry returns and presses Ben for the $1,000 again, threatening to spill the secrets of Ben’s backyard project if he refuses. “I have patience,” Larry says on his way off the front porch, “but there is a limit.” Ben returns inside, where he thanks Tate for helping during the home invasion, demands an explanation as to why Tate was in the house to begin with and emphasizes again the inappropriateness of continuing as Tate’s doctor, given the circumstances and Tate’s burgeoning attraction to Violet.

What to make of Tate’s apparently sincere plea to Ben to keep on with the professional relationship? Is he in some way being honest (“You’re the only one I can trust”), or is he just manipulating his doctor masterfully? I think it’s a bit of both, actually, and again the contemplation of exactly why, based on the information doled out on Tate to this point causes the character to begin to emerge as one of the more fascinating in the series. Is it simply that ambiguity in evil (or perceived evil) is inherently more interesting than ambiguity in “good” (or “less evil”)? Ben’s apparent sexual psychosis is no doubt interesting, but more as an element that can be amplified and exploited by evil forces—his addictions would seem more run of the mill (at least as a subject for a TV drama) were he not being taunted by actual demons. At the very least there seems to be little mystery other than how far he might be compelled to go because of them, but again that’s more about how (and why) he’s being pushed. Tate, on the other hand, seems mired in a much more slippery sort of evil that we as a society still haven’t been able to get a handle on—the personality and motivations and fantasies of someone who might be capable of mass murder.

Vivien makes arrangements to get an alarm system installed in the house, and Moira asks for the holiday off to visit with her mother. Halloween being the family oriented holiday that it is, Vivien accedes to the request. Vivien steps outside and meets Patrick and Chad, the (dead) fluffers sent by Marcy, whom she hires to muster a hopefully spectacular holiday décor. Later, Chad pointedly sniffs at the gazebo (“You put that in yourself, Ben?”) and suggests tearing it down once Halloween is past in favor of an organic cutting garden. Startled, Ben cuts himself on a pumpkin carving knife. Patrick offers to tend to it and, after getting Ben alone, comes on to him in a strange echo of the celebrity flashback from the last episode. Ben rebuffs him and Patrick backs off, begging him not to tell Chad what’s happened. Meanwhile, Chad tells Vivien that he senses “a darkness” in Ben.

Addy tells Violet she wants to be a “pretty girl” for Halloween, so Violet takes the opportunity to bond with her by helping Addy with a makeover. (Addy looks in the makeup mirror and this time in another echo, this one of the mirrored closet, exclaims, “I’m beautiful!”) But her joy doesn’t last long when Constance sees what’s she’s been up to. This scene, in which Addy expresses her desire to be a “pretty girl,” and perhaps a bit more of the sense that she could be, gets shot down by Constance’s guilt over her own biological culpability regarding Addy’s condition and the insecurity she feels crushing her whenever anyone sees her out with her daughter. Addy runs away from her mother in horror, but this time Constance doesn’t follow.

Instead we see Violet descending into the basement to meet Tate, who she finds dressed in the rubber man suit. (“I thought my dad threw that out.” “Finders keepers.”) He then tells Violet (and us) more of the story of Nora and Dr. Charles Montgomery, revealing to her not only the basement abortion operation but that the boyfriend of one patient eventually found out about it and stole the Montgomery’s own child, echoing the Lindbergh kidnapping, only to return the child in pieces, pickled in jars, as retribution for the doctor’s own abortive services. Nora begins to crumble, of course, but her madness is shallow compared to that of Charles, who begins a horrifying reclamation project-- he attempts to sew his baby boy back together in his basement laboratory and loses what little grip on reality he had left in the process.

This is, of course, the seminal story of the Murder House, suggesting that infanticide might be the worst crime, the gateway horror to evil even more profound. But what really spawns the evil that inhabits the house? Surely not Montgomery’s work as an abortionist—he would have hardly been the only doctor providing that service in Los Angeles in the ‘20s. And the results of the murder of the baby were delivered unto the house from the place where the dismemberment took place. It is clearly Charles’s unhinged response to the crime that begins the legacy of evil in the Murder House, and we haven’t quite seen the whole story yet. (Remember the wound on the back of Nora’s head that clues us in inescapably to her ghost status when she visits Vivien in the “Murder House” episode?)

The key scene in the remainder of this episode comes a few minutes later, when Constance, in an act of apparent contrition, brings Addy a “pretty girl” mask that she thinks will appease her daughter’s desire to look beautiful for Halloween. Addy’s seems happy, and Constance reassures her that now she won’t have to worry about makeup “or anything like that.” But Addy hasn’t tried it on yet. For me, this scene is where American Horror Story really begins to flirt with the kind of emotional depth that might justify and deepen its thematic ambitions. I’m very interested in what you thought of it, Simon, having not yet seen “Halloween, Part 2,” of course.

Vivien confronts Ben about Hayden, whose phone number is all over their latest phone bill, and when she asks him if he saw her in Boston on his recent trip he denies that he did. He tells her all he’s been doing has been rebuffing her insistent calls, and I think Vivien wants to believe him, but it’s pretty clear this is a big one to try to swallow. Just as he insists that it’s over, his phone rings. Vivien picks it up. It’s Hayden, who has apparently just left a new message.

Chad, upset that Ben has not purchased Gala apples for the bobbing bucket, explodes and tells Ben and Vivien that they should leave, to which Vivien naturally responds with confusion. “We should leave our house?” she asks, to which he replies, “It’s not your house. We know it, and the house knows it. Frankly, you don’t deserve it.” Vivien begins wrecking up some of Chad’s décor work, but before he can take a step toward her, Patrick pulls him back. On their way to the door, Chad catches a glimpse of someone standing in the window in the rubber suit. The stress of the situation sends Vivien into a bout of abdominal cramping, and Ben whisks her away to the hospital.

Upstairs, Violet is listening to her iPod and cannot hear the trick-or-treaters who come to the door. Addy rings the doorbell because she wants Violet to see her costume, but of course she gets no answer. There’s a sign out instructing them to just “Take One,” but Addy, now in her “pretty girl” mask, can’t read it, and the hottie teenagers in their pirate wench outfits make fun of her because of it. When they leave, Addy, thinking she fits in with them better than she does, chases after them across the street, right into the path of an oncoming car.

At the hospital, the ultrasound nurse checking up on Vivien cannot account for the size of the baby at this stage of the pregnancy (just a few weeks), and when she sees what’s on the monitor (a sight we are not afforded) she passes out.

Back at the house, Constance is horrified to discover Addy’s limp body, mask still covering her face, splayed out in the street as paramedics try to revive her. Hysterical, Constance tries to tell the medics to move her over to the lawn of the Harmon house “while she’s still with us,” but they naturally refuse. Constance then screams and pushes them away, attempting to drag Addy’s body onto the property before her soul can escape recapture by the house, but she is ultimately too late.

Meanwhile, we see Moira visiting her own aged mother, hooked up to intensive care equipment in a nursing residence, apologizing to her for “not being there for you.” Clearly Moira is torn by the experience of “living” long enough to see what her mother has gone through in her long illness, and here she avails herself of the opportunity to detach the life support and send her mother out of her misery. Unbeknownst to Moira as she weeps over the now-lifeless body, her mother reappears over her shoulder and looks on, as unable to comfort her own daughter in death as Moira was unable to comfort her in life. This scene raises an interesting logistical question, in that it is, I believe, the first time we’ve seen a Murder House ghost interacting with the living away from the immediate property. So are the rules not precisely what we have to this point assumed, or are Murphy and Falchuk just playing fast and loose here?

Violet hears loud banging on the front door. It’s Larry, come to do some trick-or-treating of his own. Violet, understandably, refuses to open the door and when Larry continues, shouting now, she calls Ben at the hospital for help. As the doorbell keeps ringing and the banging and shouting continues, we see Violet staring at the door, unaware that the Rubber Man is standing in the kitchen just behind her, watching.

Ben and Vivien return to see the house open, the house alarm sounding furiously, and Violet apparently not at home. Once again, a knock on the door. Ben answers and sees a disheveled, smiling Hayden staring back at him. He slams the door. End of “Halloween Part 1.”

I think the show really gets cooking with this episode, Simon. How about you?

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Catch up on the American Horror Story conversation between Simon and I by clicking on the following links:

Friday, August 24, 2012

More thoughts on the "Murder House" episode of American Horror Story as I respond to Simon Abrams's comments and dig deeper into some of the house's secrets. Again, please feel free to acquaint yourself with the progression of this conversation, if you haven't done so already, by clicking on the following links:

“Murder House” was an compelling episode for me in that I liked the sense I got of some of the pieces falling into place re the house’s history and the implications for some of the characters—by now it’s becoming clearer as to the trajectory and logic of the story, and Mssrs. Murphy and Falchuk do a good job of keeping us interested and setting the hooks for the elements that beg further development. I’m especially anticipating the storyline involving Nora and Charles (Nora Charles? Hardly the upper-crust blithe spirits of Myrna Loy, or William Powell, in operation here) and what might come of their grisly basement abortion operation, to say nothing of the contrast between Nora’s apparent resentfulness of motherhood, (Nora disregards her own child, and she more or less forces the abortion scenario upon Charles) and the desperate maternal longing she displays when she shows up in the present day.

I like the impending sense of the walls closing in on Ben the way that they do—the pileup of circumstances is almost farcical-- the potential uncovering of Moira’s burial place (Constance tries to deflect Ben not because she fears her act being discovered so much as she wants Moira to stay right where she is); the missing patient (and Ben’s missing patch of memory regarding what obviously happened to her in his office, something that left a pool of blood for Moira to clean up); the ever-present outside force of Larry undermining Ben’s sense of stability—to what purpose we remain unsure, but we have to believe there is one, right?; and the unnerving sound of the almost constantly ringing doorbell, which brings not only reminders of the home invasion but now a police investigator into the picture, and also Hayden, who isn’t crazy (her assertion), she’s just angry at being left behind at the abortion clinic. The pitch-black farce hits high gear when Hayden reveals to Ben that she did not go through with termination the pregnancy but instead plans to move to Marina Del Rey and make Ben’s life in climes ostensibly sunnier than the ones he left behind with her in Boston, well, even a little cloudier.

(To get back to the crispiest male in the cast for a second, Larry gets one of the best laughs, or at least knowing grins, when it’s revealed, in a reach back to the previous episodes dalliance with themes of vanity and ambitions toward fame in American culture, that he’s going to try to extort $1,000 from Ben to finance the expense of a new bunch of headshots. That flip joke from the “Home Invasion” episode when Larry, in answer to Ben’s query as to what he wants, answers “I just wanna be on the stage,” turns out to not be just a flip joke. Larry would like nothing more than to stop Ben running around Macarthur Park in a daze of crushing conflict and get our beleaguered protagonist to run lines with him.)

But as you state, Murphy and Falchuk have shown a tendency to make a bit too much of a moralistic game out of encouraging us to shake our heads at the males in the episode. Ben’s sexual addiction, which is indeed an inflammation beyond the norm of a tendency that apparently all men have (“How do you get anything done around here with that thing around?” the policeman says to Ben upon noticing young Moira trouncing around in the background), is the big elephant in the room at play here, and I don’t have a problem with that per se. It’s a fascinating element on which the house is able to prey and exploit. Your objections based on the apparent biological imperative of men to behave exclusively like beasts and see women primarily as objects of lust are well taken, though. And it is curious that American Horror Story has so far found no other correlative character flaw in Vivien from which to draw out similar conflict that doesn’t relate in some way to motherhood or procreation. This has been true of the major adult female roles in the show so far (excepting Moira), even Constance, though her character has already been demonstrated as being the richest, or the most potentially rich, of the entire cast as she is clearly driving, or at least centrally involved in, events that will carry the plot further down the road. Vivien’s character is frustrating to me in that it seems like a potentially large opportunity lost to make her only a reactive presence—to the house, to Ben, to Violet, to Constance and Addy—without further defining her beyond her relative moral high ground as opposed to those around her, or in her role as a parent. (She’s even a healthy eater, for Christ’s sake!)

But one of my biggest annoyances with the series so far remains the fairly obvious way that Murphy and Falchuk have conceived Violet, who has only a marginal presence in this episode but an irritating one. I have been allergic to all-seeing, all-knowing teenage characters like hers, who often have honor bestowed on them by their very sullenness, even since the days when I was an all-seeing, all-knowing teenager myself. But the level of articulate self-possession displayed by Violet has been extremely off-putting to me so far. Some of this is partially attributable to Taissa Farmiga, who shares the tendency toward smugness that ultimately upended the pleasing ambivalence of her older sister Vera’s performance in Higher Ground. But I lay the blame primarily at the feet of the writers (Murphy, Falchuk and the sole credited writer of this episode, Jennifer Salt*, who also wrote the “Spooky Little Girl” episode, one of the series’ best), who have allowed themselves what I would term the John Hughes Indulgence when it comes to conceiving and scripting dialogue for Violet.

Hughes specialized in pushing a generation’s most self-pitying buttons, getting them to respond with recognition when actors like Molly Ringwald and Jon Crier and Anthony Michael Hall expressed with preternatural awareness not only the insecurities and pain of their characters (which were meant to stand in for the sensitive, wounded, intelligent Everykid) but their uncanny ability to identify and eviscerate the foibles of the adults (of whose generation Hughes belonged) who had long since become inured to the teenage perspective, distracted and corrupted as they inevitably became by the apparently more selfish concerns of adulthood. Violet fits this paradigm all too neatly. I’ve already complained about her snarky tendencies in the “Pilot” episode—it was actually sort of liberating to see her cage get rattled along with Leah’s during their visit to the basement. But here, when Vivien takes her along to look at the apartment she’s considering moving the family into in order to escape the already terrible influence of the house (she ain’t seen nothin’ yet!), the writers dish up yet another chance for Violet to soapbox Vivien.

I bristle at the absurd level of knowingness and self-possession that Violet summons with apparent ease to flay at her mom’s character—“You don’t deal with anything—the affair, the miscarriage. For most people that’s just life, and they deal.” Incredibly, as events beyond this episode develop, the writers and Farmiga manage to keep us on Violet’s side. But at this stage I find myself looking for more opportunities for Violet’s self-assurance—which is, I understand, itself a defense mechanism—to get shaken up, if for no other reason than for her to begin to operate on a level beyond the conceit of self-congratulation that the writers display for attempting to access the worldview of a young person at the expense of the adults closest to her. I know plenty of kids who might feel this way; it’s the overwritten articulation, and the consequent reduction of the character to a convenient pose, that I object to.

There are a couple of things that I want to touch on briefly, perhaps more as fodder for further conversation before we move away from “Murder House” to the next episode than anything. I am interested, particularly in light of the ambivalence already shown toward the character of Constance, who clearly has some as-yet-fully-undisclosed sinister purpose, in the show’s attitude toward Nora, the society maven who makes life such a hell for her husband, the ineffectual Dr. Charles Montgomery, and exacerbates his plunge into madness. She is clearly someone who was not pleasant to be around when she was alive— to the hubby, the help, and probably not to her baby boy either. But when she reappears at the doorstep of the Harmon home some 80 years later and has her tour through the foyer and the kitchen-- Vivien mistakes her for a potential buyer, but doesn’t seem as confused as I certainly would be at her visitor’s apparent intimate familiarity with the details of the décor-- there’s a certain wistfulness that death has apparently conveyed upon her that is, to say the least, curious. We haven’t yet seen all there is to see of Nora and Charles’s story, but I wonder if you found it odd the degree of sympathy which the storytellers seem to have, at least at this point, with Nora’s now apparently unsuppressed maternal instincts. (She certainly didn’t seem to be anything like a natural born mother when she was seated with child and spouse at that big dinner table.) The last we see of her here, sitting at Vivien’s bedside while Vivien sleeps, unaware of the hand reaching out to, but not touching, her pregnant belly, is just one of the things that piqued my interest in what might be in store here regarding this new (and yet apparently oldest) member of the Murder House spectral ancestry.

As for Sal Mineo’s appearance, at first I found it kind of grimly interesting, but upon further reflection I’m come to see it as a bit more evidence of what you suggested in talking about the “Home Invasion” episode, in regard to Murphy and Falchuk’s somewhat winking attitude toward real-life tragedy. They are not done in this arena, and one instance I can think of that’s coming up works far more effectively as a bitter and vivid evocation of the emotional concerns the show is trafficking in—they actually take the time to integrate this future element into the action of the show rather than to just exploit the more prurient elements of a tragedy, as they do with the Mineo killing. To reference what happened to Mineo in such a casually brutal way (the actor’s come-on to his murderer even echoes one that will recur, in a completely different context, in the next episode, “Halloween Part 1”) seems to place the show more on the TMZ level of that morbid “Eternal Darkness” tourist tour of Los Angeles atrocities rather than anything like a serious consideration of American horror.

And to that end, one of the horrors referenced in American Horror Story most certainly has to be the stress and agony of the American homeowner in the 21st century, which I think Murphy and Falchuk have done a bang-up job in evoking with this temporally far-reaching tale. It reminds me of Stephen King’s story in his marvelous Danse Macabre on the “economic unease” reflected in the movie version of The Amityville Horror (1979)—when the walls start oozing blood and the place starts falling apart, King recalls hearing worried filmgoers whispering about the cost of all those home repairs the Lutzes were now facing. (I’ll look up the actual quote when I get home.)

Finally, I don’t want to make it sound as though my reaction to this episode is overly negative, because I actually like it quite a bit, and as I’ve already said, “Murder House” lays the groundwork and piques the curiosity as to the show’s direction more than ably enough. (Though I must say that the next couple of episodes are where I think AHS really steps up its game.) At one point Marcy, the hapless, somewhat unethical Realtor is out in front of the house repositioning the “For Sale” sign after Vivien demands that she put it back on the market. She sees Constance looking toward the upstairs window. Constance is waving to Tate, who stares back without emotion, visible only to her, of course. After she realizes that Marcy has been watching her, Constance gathers herself, looks at the sign and says dismissively, “Good luck getting rid of this lemon,” before continuing with her little dogs down the street. No need to worry. By this point I’m in for the long haul.

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(*Yes, this episode was written by the very same Jennifer Salt who made a name for herself in the early ‘70s acting in movies like Midnight Cowboy, Hi, Mom!, Play It Again, Sam, Brewster McCloud and Sisters, as well as on the hit TV series Soap.)

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Technical delays having been for the moment conquered, Simon Abrams checks in with his start-up of our conversation about "Murder House," the second episode of American Horror Story's first-season run. (It's a miniseries, not a regular TV show, according to the Emmys and also according to a full-page ad in this past Sunday's Los Angeles Times trumpeting its nominations and the upcoming season, entitled American Horror Story: Asylum.) Please feel free to acquaint yourself with the progression of this conversation, if you haven't done so already, by clicking on the following links:

Apologies for the delay. My computer is still in the shop. The good news is it is supposed to be done by today. The bad news is I expect I have to pay more money for additional parts. The ugly news is I don't have the money to pay for them or anything else until my next paycheck comes in....

Anyway, the "Murder House" episode moves American Horror Story's plot forward significantly. I mostly liked this episode with some major reservations. The episode begins with Moira's death. The year is 1983 and the lecherous owner of the titular house is feeling frisky. He wants Moira, but she doesn't want him. More to the point, she doesn't want to lose her job, having already regretfully had sex with her boss once before (this tryst is alluded to only in dialogue). But it turns out that the philandering man in question is actually Constance's husband. Constance walks in, shoots out Moira's eye, makes a sullen (But dramatic!) speech decrying her unfaithful hubby, and then shoots him dead.

This opening scene doesn't set up so much as it conforms to a pattern established in "Pilot." While they do make their adult male protagonists pitiable monsters, Murphy and Falchuk also make it a little too easy to cluck your tongues at their guys. I'm thinking particularly of Ben but I think Tate and Dr. Charles Montgomery, the man that commissioned the construction of the Harmons' house, have also suffered thusfar from rickety characterizations. "Murder House" may concern and reveal new information about heroines like Moira and Constance. But ultimately, Ben is the one that has to most actively push the plot forward. Which is troubling since Ben is basically being pulled in several different directions in "Murder House," making it easy to ignore the fact that a multitudes of factors are over-anxiously pushing us, as viewers, away from him and towards the show's already sympathetic women. Which wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for a really cheap and frankly rather obnoxious plot twist that explains why Vivien doesn't see the same Moira that Ben does.

In "Murder House," Ben's problems really hit home. He can't immediately raise the family's stakes and leave the house because of a number of factors. For example, Ben has to be the family's sole breadwinner since Vivien can't get a job now that she's pregnant. Ben also suffers from mysterious blackouts now. And his creepy burn victim friend is now demanding a bribe. And Ben's other woman, Hayden, the pregnant one in Boston? She's back and she wants Ben's attention. Oh, and Moira is and isn't apparently flirting with Ben, because, as Moira says, only women can see her for who she truly is.

That revelation is the one that made me most exasperated this week. Remember when I previously complained that the ironic register of Falchuk and Murphy's sense of humor was really bugging me? Well, when Moira says, "Women, however, see into the soul of a person," it's not only too earnest, it's just flat out too dumb. Let me get this straight: Moira only looks like she's a flirty hotty because...men like Ben, Constance's husband and the detective (the one that gets in a hilariously low blow at Ben when he says, " Right. It's not a crime to be an asshole?") that searches for one of Ben's patients, now missing--are all collectively deluded? I'm not saying the show's writers are not revealing enough of the logic or lack thereof behind this plot twist. I am however taken aback at how much of a cop-out this line and this understanding of Moira's effect on men is. It's biological, stupid, they can't help it! Really? How can we help but hate these guys on a certain level now?

The other key thing about this week's episode that immediately drove me nuts is that while the women seem to all have great stamp-my-feet-and-look-at-me lines (even Hayden: "I'm not a whore; I matter!"), almost none of them are able to affect change in this episode. Constance is the most pro-active when she shoots Moira and, well, look how that turned out. Violet is barely in this episode, while Vivien only manages to rattle the cage of the shifty realtor that sold the Harmons their house. Beyond that, Vivien goes on a guided tour and learns yet another reason why she should move out of the house immediately. And she also shows the house to a ghost in an ironic reference to an earlier flashback.

All of this starts to look like a very stacked deck against Ben once you see how Moira is ultimately victimized by episode's end. The blackouts that Ben has been experiencing are actually leading him to the house's backyard. And ultimately, when we see what's in the hole he's been distractedly digging throughout "Murder House," we get why Moira is also very frantic and interested in Ben's excavation. Something is compelling Ben to dig up (or maybe just discover) Moira's bones. But unfortunately for Moira, Ben had his own body to contribute to that hole. Ben is a monster because, more than any of his other character flaws, he can't see past himself. So he literally buries his problems (oh yeah, P.S., it's Hayden; duh.) in the vain hope that he can hide from his past.

I like the effect of this climactic burial but I don't like how we get there. I see Falchuk and Murphy trying to make Ben sympathetic but again, I feel that they too often drive us to Vivien and Constance, the latter of whom actively steers Ben towards sealing up Moira's improvised grave. But I feel like that can unpack further in subsequent posts. This one's been delayed long enough as is. What do you think of this episode, Dennis? How 'bout that sexy stuff (all that pumping!), and Sal Mineo (random!), and the guy with the Frankenstein complex (Make him squeal!)?

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Well, the Skuriels Award winners turned out to closely resemble, with some exceptions, those of the BFI Sight and Sound poll. Vertigo and Citizen Kane, the newly crowned BFI champ and the deposed ex-champion, jostled it out in the runners-up position, while 2001: A Space Odyssey managed the most love from our august body of voters. All in all, an admirable list, if not too surprising. (My own submissions to the list of 20 potential Skuriels candidates can be seen here.)

But there were real surprises in the Honorable Mentions, and especially among the Skuriels Orphans, the movies that, as Paul Clark wrote in introducing the collection, "only received one vote but which their supporters saw fit to champion anyway." Among these orphans you can read Kent M. Beeson on The Brood, Phil Dyess-Nugent on Fires on the Plains, Joshua Rothkopf on Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia and, perhaps the entry for which I'm most grateful-- for the excellent writing but also for the jog of my memory-- Zach Ralston on Gus van Sant's damnably beautiful Gerry.

These are the passionate defenses I most enjoy reading, and there are, of course, many others, including my own submission, republished below, on one of my favorite cinematic evangelical causes, Steven Spielberg's much maligned and underappreciated 1941. I have written about this movie many times, here and elsewhere, and this latest effort is likely to be the springboard to a larger consideration of the movie that I've been threatening to tackle for a while now. Nevertheless, I was most grateful to be asked by Paul to articulate some of the reasons why I genuinely love this movie and, with absolutely no ironic winking involved, believe it to be a great achievement. If you will indulge me again on Spielberg's great satiric indulgence then, here is what I wrote for the Skuriels about 1941.

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I know it probably sounds like hopeless contrarianism to see 1941 on any list of the top 20 greatest movies ever made. I’ve already made my reasons clear elsewhere here as to my own criteria for the list submitted, and I have no business pretending that I’m seasoned enough to suggest the 20 greatest anythings, let alone movies, based purely on “objective” analysis.

But after perhaps as many as 25 viewings of Steven Spielberg’s notorious big-budget, epic comedy since its release in December 1979 I’ve come to the conclusion that if this movie doesn’t in some way represent what makes a “great” movie, then I need a radically revised dictionary.

Spielberg has intimated in the past, and it has been reported endlessly, that he felt like he was losing control during the production of 1941, that he was in over his head and that the production was subsumed by creative anarchy and/or at the very least a lack of consistent direction. Well, I would submit that the last thing I would want to see is a movie about the freewheeling anarchy of an optimistic America, under enemy besiegement that is only partially an imagined product of a volatile cocktail of patriotism and paranoia, that is itself measured and controlled and tamped down around the edges. The blistering satiric punch of the script, penned by Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale when the duo still had some real fire in their bellies, is exacerbated by anarchy—anarchy is its fuel, its lifeblood. 1941 is exhilarating in part precisely because you feel Spielberg flying by the seat of his pants and still marshaling some of the most marvelous, breathtaking comedy (and musical) set pieces imaginable amidst the chaos. Even the perceived bloat of that production seems to work in its favor, not, as traditionally presumed, against it.

But 1941 is not, unlike John Landis’s similarly indulgent The Blues Brothers, all just chaos and cacophony and waste, nor does 1941 share that film’s insistent deadpan delivery of its best material. There’s an eye-boggling grace in play too, from the way Wild Bill Kelso’s fighter plane is shot gliding through the sky over the Grand Canyon or shooting out across the night-lit skies above a twinkling (miniature) Los Angeles; to the sight of a bomb rolling toward a gaggle of reporters gathered at Santa Monica Airport to welcome General Stillwell to town; to the way Kelso leaps up onto the wing of his plane and tumbles over the other side to the ground; or to the sight of a Ferris wheel unmoored from its structure careening down Santa Monica Pier like a gigantic ghostly toy escaping from the clutches of its owner.

There’s wit in a miniature-scale skewering of the bigotry of the day when a racist soldier gets his face smeared with engine smoke and “switches places” with a Negro soldier who has been similarly dusted with flour (You must see the movie to understand how this comes about), and in a simple moment during which the smoke puffing from the end of Kelso’s mangled stogie is synchronized to the momentarily ethereal orchestration of John Williams’ hilarious, inspired score (one of his best, easily).

And there is, of course, the movie’s centerpiece, justifiably praised by even many of the movie’s detractors, the thrilling USO dance sequence, matched for musical buoyance and insouciance in Spielberg’s career only by the “Anything Goes” number that opens his equally maligned (and equally masterful) Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. At one point, leading up to a key change in the “Swing, Swing, Swing” number, Spielberg uses a lighter-than-air crane shot to lift the camera up above the dance floor, where it is revealed that the dancers are hoofing it on the painted image of Hitler and Tojo, a shot which is again followed immediately by a similar vertically-- and then horizontally-- oriented camera move up and over the backs of some of the orchestra players and out across the floor above the dancers. The simple beauty of this combination of camera and action and musical choreography is so blissful, so chill-inducing that the last time I saw the movie it caused me to burst into tears.

1941 showcases a Spielberg not yet burdened by the need to make grand statements, whose entertainer instinct remained at the forefront despite whatever personal insecurities he may have had during its production. And yet time has proven, at least to me, that the director, who seems here to be firing completely on instinct and willing to look foolish for perhaps the only time in his career, might have been better served had he not always been so keen on following the guidelines prescribing what was expected of him. (Temple of Doom displays a similar disregard for expectations.) Like all of Spielberg’s best movies (including Jaws, Duel, A.I., Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, War Horse and even Munich), 1941 is evidence of the director playing with all the Hollywood toys at his disposal, bending or sometimes outright disregarding the rules to his own purpose and creating something unique, something unrepeatable, something great in the process.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

"This may be the one that kills us." - Kanbei (Takashi Shimura), Seven Samurai

Paul Clark, co-founder of the beloved Muriel Awards, in which I am an honored annual participant, is up to something new this summer. He and Steven Carlson have conjoined the Muriels forces with Mike D'Angelo's Skandies awards (otherwise known as the Skander Halim Memorial Movie Survey) in an attempt to distinguish another voting body from the spotlight-snatching BFI Sight and Sound Poll. Muriels and Skandies voters sent in ballots earlier this summer for the first Annual Skuriels Awards, and now the results are being trickled out, Muriels style, over the course of the next few days at the official Skuriels blog.

"Naturally, there’s a tendency to feel a little intimidated, announcing our list like this in the shadow of the more established Sight and Sound poll," writes Clark. But he goes on to add that the idea is not so lofty as to try and steal attention from the BFI. "While they’re certainly worthy of their legendary status," Clark says in the opening salvo on the Skuriels blog, "we like to think there’s plenty of room for another poll of this sort among moviegoers. Some of these write-ups are long, other short; some of them are academic, others anecdotal, and at least one of them is... well, pretty darn creative. But they're all well worth your time."

And so it goes. Paul begins with a shout-out to all the Skandies contributors (including Yours Truly), and then moves right on to submissions on the first two of six movies that tied for the #15 spot, Seven Samurai (1954), courtesy of Matt Lynch, and The Searchers (1956), from the virtual pen of Andy Horbal.

Keep checking in throughout the week for more fine essays from the Skuriels team on the movies that made the list, as well as a look at some of the titles that garnered votes but had little chance of making the top 20. (The movie I was asked to write up has about as much chance of charting this list as Rick Santorum does of being elected president in November.)

(Vertigo and Citizen Kane tie for second place! Doesn't that just figure?! So the Skuriels have gone their own way. Which movie will take the crown? Find out as Jeff McMahon and Froilan Vispo reveal the number-one Skuriels vote-getter.

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UPDATE 8/22/12

The honorable mentions are beginning to roll in at The Skuriels blog. Click on over and see if any of your choices almost made the cut.

Just a word to let our readers know that technical difficulties have delayed our ability to get this week's discussion of "Murder House," episode two of American Horror Story, under way as scheduled. But Simon and I will resume the back-and-forth this week. Stay tuned for more details!

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Simon Abrams takes time out of his weekend to log one last entry in this week's discussion of the "Home Invasion" episode of American Horror Story. I'll be back with a brief wrap-up tomorrow, and Simon will kick off the discussion of episode 2, provocatively entitled "Murder House," on Monday. You can pick up the threads of this conversation in its entirety by clicking on any of the links below:

I appreciate that even-handed tone of your second post on "Home Invasion," Dennis. Mostly because I now readily admit I was jumping to conclusions in most regards. I mean, you asked me to so I blame you! But yeah, no, this is the problem with writing about a serial narrative piecemeal as you watch it. It's also important to note I could not have my notes on the episode in front of me as my computer was and still is in the shop. So I'm tip-tep-typing this on my lil phone. Forgive the typos, please.

In any case, I hadn't even considered something as direct (re: Constance's motivation for the cupcake) as revenge for Violet harassing Addy. It's a crucial piece of evidence in my hare-brained argument so, uh, whoops.

I will however stick by my theory about the relativity of evil in "Home Invasion." You are right in saying that the real-life Manson clan's motives were in all likelihood no less image-conscious. I was even thinking along the same lines myself. But that is not the information we are meant to mull over in "Home Invasion." Given the information provided in the episode, there is definitely a bias towards the original killers. I totally agree that the juxtaposition of the two different killers is an extension of a key foundational concept in the pilot, specifically that the house's cyclical history of attracting and breeding monsters is a sign that there is nothing new under the sun (or maybe the full moon, da-hey!). But I also feel like there is not only a professionalism and mock-severity to the fact that Constance, Tate and Moira are left unphased by the crimes in question (see: the shot of the three of them looking down at the copycats' bodies disdainfully). But there's also a pronounced difference in the actions that define the two sets of killers.

You'll hopefully forgive me for making my second and final post on "Home Invasion" focus on this one aspect of the episode, I hope. The rest of the episode was fine, if ho-hum. And as you implied, it doesn't really add anything to what the superior "Pilot" set up. But I feel "Home Invasion" does show a perversely and perhaps even unconscious preference for the original 1968 killers. They are ruthless, methodical, original and lack discernible motivation. They mean business and they're dangerous, as is shone by the way that the crime is treated as a matter of fact. It happened: this is the past, and there is no point in interrogating or even lingering on those actions in "Home Invasion" beyond how they affect the show's protagonists.

I realize that characterization is perhaps a bit strident but I believe it to be true. I feel that showing us unprofessional, unsuccessful, goggle-eyed copycats after that cold opening establishes an inherently unflattering comparison between the two sets of killers. You can even see Falchuk and Murphy set up the notion that there is something a little nutty about Fiona recounts her elevator dream to Ben. She's bug-eyed and spaced-out, and more than a little visibly turned-on by something. She may have had some catnip before sitting down to tape that scene. But hey, she's wired and I think that both established that something is up with her, but it also establishes the disdain Falchuk and Murphy show towards her perverse, character-defining nostalgia.

Also, we are shown that the re-enactment of the 1968 killers' does not go off without a hitch. I know we can agree on that because that's objectively true. But where we disagree perhaps is what that signifies both within "Home Invasion" and the narrative of the show as it has been established thus far. The copycats have to be bumbling because we have to get to that shot of Constance, Moira and Tate looking down their noses at the group. These kids have to look like kids dressing up on Halloween compared to the trio of ghoulies that can't seem to leave the house. After rewatching Clockwork Orange last night, I think this is especially true. I'm thinking of the doorbell trick Alex pulls in that film and how it relates to the one used twice in "Home Invasion." It is significant that this trick does not work for the copycats and evens more significant that we see that failure acted out. We are shone that the group is spooky and potentially dangerous, as in the scene leading up to Vivien being overwhelmed by the copycats (a spooky scene that I rather liked!). But when viewed holistically, the fact that these guys are ritualistically copying a pattern established earlier in the episode makes one think that these new killers, the ones defined by how flustered and desperate they are, are inferior because they are ineffectual.

I feel that preference is problematic for reasons I already talked about in my last post. But it's also irritating because it shows you the limited intelligence of Falchuk and Murphy's script for "Home Invasion." After watching that episode, I don't get the sense that the evil of the show's "serial killer of the week" antagonists, as you put it, will be examined. You know better as to whether or not this is true and have hinted that the show does not continue on with this style of narrative. Which is a relief! Still, I'm frustrated at the thought that these two sets of characters are as instantly disposable as they are. Their actions must have consequences that aren't just instantly forgettable, and for all I know they will. But I probably have assigned too much meaning to the differences of these killers because I want them to mean something. And for that, I choose to also blame you for some reason or another.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Time for me to (finally) respond to Simon Abrams previous post in our ongoing discussion of the "Home Invasion" episode of American Horror Story. You can pick up the threads of this conversation in its entirety by clicking on any of the links below:

My apologies to you and anyone following this exchange for my tardiness in responding to your last post. As you’ve already implied, it’s been one of those weeks for me too.

I’ve never seen Nip/Tuck, though I have certainly heard plenty about its inconsistencies of tone and intent, so I can’t speak directly to that show. But given my relatively vast experience with Glee, the other hit show spawned from the creative loins of Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, one of the reasons why I resisted even watching American Horror Story for as long as I did (I only began looking at the episodes near the beginning of this summer) was because I wasn’t sure I needed a similarly flip take on a beloved genre. Horror has already been run perilously close to the ground with self-reflexive deconstructionism and a simple dearth of ideas on how to make overly familiar tropes scary and resonant again, and what I had seen from Mssrs. Murphy and Falchuk didn’t go far in making me think they were the ones that were going to make an enterprise like this work.“Home Invasion” didn’t inspire grand hopes for me either, particularly at first. (I remember stumbling across a portion of it while channel surfing when it actually aired and thinking, nah, this probably isn’t for me. ) It’s not establishing ground the way “Pilot” did, but there’s still a sense of the show trying to find its way, trying to worm its way into the grander picture. And even accounting for the allusion to Vivien’s pregnancy and the reappearance of the severely burned Larry, “Home Invasion” feels like the most “stand-alone” of the episodes. It almost seems to portend a sort of “serial killer of the week” approach to the horror anthology format, which is, I think, something that I either consciously or unconsciously presumed when I changed the channel after running across it back in October.

Physical beauty and image is most definitely a theme here, and I don’t think it’s improper to read the show, at least in part, as Murphy and Falchuk’s take on that, particularly as it relates to Constance and Addy, but also Constance in general and other characters who will emerge in the show later. And there are definite threads here connecting personal horror in its many forms to an absence of conformity to standards of physical beauty. But Constance’s perspective on her daughter is, I believe, more ambivalent than what you suggested in your previous post, and, significantly, her ambivalence is not that of the show itself. I think it was Alan Sepinwall who, in reviewing this episode when it first aired, regretted the apparent damage that Murphy and Falchuk had done to all the good work Glee was responsible for in assimilating a Down’s syndrome character into that show and deflecting the usual uncomfortable reaction in viewers (and people in general) in encountering someone with this affliction. Were the Constance-Addy relationship to basically stop at the point where the mother shows her regret at stuffing her into a closet full of mirrors and then soberly returning to her lover, I might think there was something to this reaction. (I realize here that I’m operating with knowledge of what’s coming in episodes yet to be discussed, so I’ll try not to give away too much.)

Where I don’t think the show goes in its implications of specificity toward the use of the word “American” is that deformity itself is, as you put it, “a uniquely American curse.” Though it’s probably true that Americans are perhaps more pathologically image conscious than just about any other nation on Earth, I don’t think, in this age of global culture, we’ve necessarily got the corner on that market. (The recent Olympics illustrated this fairly well, while at the same time pointing up that America-centric coverage was as alive and suppurating as ever at NBC.) I don’t think the conflation of deformity and curse is a conclusion that AHS itself reaches, though I will admit that if one were to see only “Home Invasion” it might more easily appear this way. What Constance does reflect is a curiously American way of reacting to the unfortunate physical circumstances of her daughter’s birth in a way that translates and equates the daughter’s misfortune into the (greater) hardship of the mother, who must endure not only the slings and arrows of everyone else’s confused, repulsed response to Addy but also the mixture of disgust and love churning around in her own heart. (“A mother never turns her back on her child.”) I think in some way Constance sees her burden as proof of the sturdiness of her own stock, despite her own womb being “cursed.” Her way of dealing with this adversity (and most certainly others) relates her to a long line of women who have taken great pride in their ability to withstand whatever life throws in their path and equate that strength with their own lineage and geographical history. This quality in itself is not exactly a trait exclusive to being American, but to hear some people tell it, it most certainly is.

I don’t think you can conclude that the tainted dessert Constance brings over to the Harmons is her way of attempting to preempt further deformities either. At this point, unless we are assuming that Constance is even more perceptive (that is, psychic) than anyone-- certainly Vivien-- would suspect, Constance would have no reason to conclude that the baby she has just sensed inside Vivien would be any more at risk of a birth defect than through any other “normal” pregnancy. (She has no reason even to suspect, as we do, that the father of the child is not Ben.) But more to the point, Constance repeatedly deflects Vivien’s attempt to eat the cupcakes herself, despite Vivien’s claim (rooted in the health consciousness she’s already shown to be part of her character) that she’s “not a cupcake girl.”

No, the cupcakes, with their lovely candied purple flower toppings, are intended for Violet, for reasons having nothing to do with prevention of deformity and everything to do with simple payback. As we have both noted, Constance has already rather deliciously expressed her seething anger at Vivien having laid hands on Addy in trying to emphasize to her the impropriety of breaking into the Harmon house. So I think, under the guise of neighborly détente, Constance brings over the ipecac –laced delights (with a little extra added Addy spit for binding) ostensibly as a peace gesture but really as revenge from one mother’s daughter to another for a perceived humiliation. Violet has nothing to do with Vivien’s transgression, but in Constance’s eyes that’s not the point—this is Constance’s way of making Vivien understand a little bit of her (Constance’s) own pain. As she says to Vivien in explaining the apparently hominess of the gesture, in those similarly poisoned-honey tones Lange has down so perfectly, “I’m a sucker for penance.” (This, in case you were wondering, is my favorite line of the series that I alluded to in the previous post.)

To your other point, there is an element that I think Murphy and Falchuk and their writers do recognize, and that is the sort of fame-mongering which characterizes their band of modern-day serial killer copycats, who themselves revere and fetishize folks like Richard Speck (here, R. Franklin) or that culture-changing Charlie Manson and their evil deeds. But I don’t get the sense that, other that the heinous activities of the aforementioned murderers being aspects (or symptoms, as some would insist) of their countercultural times, AHS wants us to draw distinctions between these generations of killers. (Hindsight certainly wasn’t a requirement for folks in 1969 to draw their own conclusions as to what was to blame for the rise of Manson and his insidious influence.) Nor do I think the show is in any way shrugging off Fiona, Bianca and Dallas based on the relative paucity of their motivations. These three may be shallow copycats, because they are also, according to the detectives who indicate this was not their first foray, successful copycats, purveyors of their own genuine evil. And by reenacting “great” atrocities from L.A.’s murderous past, they are certainly consciously courting their own sort of notoriety, but that’s precisely what a megalomaniac like Manson did as well. He simply may not have been as aware of a system that would be so eager to chime in with its own complicity in helping him achieve his goals, whereas his sociopathic ancestors certainly have media awareness on their side.

It may not be a particularly original idea, but I do think the show is up to, on one level at least, a critique of the nature of a culture where such horrors are not bound by temporal or sociological demarcations but instead part of the fabric of the savagery of American culture and its self-mythology. I would agree with you about the dead-end of fetishizing the past if I also agreed that Murphy and Falchuk are really saying that one generation of killers is worse than the others. But I don’t, because I don’t think Murphy and Falchuk, whatever flaws they have as storytellers, are quite as smug as that (and they can be smug). But it’s also in part because within the walls of the Harmon house I think American Horror Story is on its way to illustrating the extent to which its creators want to take the idea that, in an exception what the usual purveyors of “family values” would suggest, murderers and victims and deviants from the norm one and all constitute an American family that just ain’t what it used to be, and that might be, after all is said and done, a good thing.